


Bound to Break

by SilverDoe290s



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Blanket warning for Sephiroth's childhood, Canon Compliant ish, M/M, but not a fluffy take on that, rivals to friends to 'it's complicated' to enemies, there should probably be a 'to lovers' in there but it's blink-and-you'll-miss-it, wherein fear of intimacy makes self-fulfilling prophecies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-19 01:23:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22636525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverDoe290s/pseuds/SilverDoe290s
Summary: Genesis Rhapsodos always wanted a soulmate and Sephiroth never anticipated one, but neither is happy with this outcome.
Relationships: Genesis Rhapsodos/Sephiroth
Comments: 12
Kudos: 48





	Bound to Break

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ScreamingViking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScreamingViking/gifts).



> This was prompted on a whim by ScreamingViking's tumblr post requesting angsty soulmate fics. A few months and many thousand words in, and it's too late to back out now.

The sun bled into the horizon, a few lingering rays catching on the ocean. It took the heat with it and allowed the air to shift from cloying to pleasant.

“Red sky at night,” Genesis announced in a sing-song voice. “Sailor’s delight.”

Angeal said nothing as he fell into a rhythm of picking out weeds. He intend­ed to make the most of the brief window where it was cool enough to work outside, but not yet dark. His friend’s voice could be filtered out as background noise. Genesis was good at filling silences.

“Do you think you have a soulmate?”

The question, though idle and off-hand in its delivery, gave Angeal pause. Not for lack of an answer, but because it had never really sunk in that _Genesis_ might have one. A foolish part of him had hoped they could go on like this forever.

“I’d hope not,” he said. “A little help here?”

Genesis gave him a look, then – the one reserved for when Angeal said something so far from his own thoughts, he was borderline offended. It might have been intimidating on his father. On a scrawny ten-year-old, it only managed to look ridiculous.

“Why in Gaia’s name wouldn’t you want one?”

Angeal shrugged. The thought of soulmates bothered him. His father hadn’t been his mother’s soulmate, after all. That hadn’t kept her from loving him.

Explaining any of that to Genesis was not a task he was up for. “I just don’t.”

Genesis scoffed. “You don’t have a single romantic bone in your body.”

Angeal tossed another weed onto the accumulating - no thanks to Genesis - pile. The soil was almost black in the rapidly dimming light, burrowing under his fingernails. It would be a pain to clean it out.

Genesis just shook his head. “Does destiny mean nothing to you? _Dreams of – has –_ no, _the shattered soul is dreaming of – ”_

Angeal chuckled. “Don’t think that’s how it goes, Gen.” 

“Oh, shut it,” Genesis muttered, cheeks flushed. “As if you’d know. Have you even read it?”

“No, but I can tell when you’re botching it.”

Genesis closed his eyes and leant back. There was just enough light left to catch in his hair and make it shimmer; he cut a perfectly dramatic figure, and by Gaia did he know it. He went quiet, then, long enough for Angeal to make out the distant chirping of cicadas.

“I will,” he asserted suddenly, with entirely unmerited confidence. “I’ll have one.”

They both knew he hadn’t gotten a mark yet. Angeal didn’t doubt him, regardless. If anyone was born for the kind of breath-taking, life-shattering romance soulmate marks promised, it was Genesis.

It was a strangely melancholy thought. He knew the _right_ thing was to be excited for his friend, but this was the one dream they’d never be able to share, and Angeal selfishly wished it wouldn’t come true.

* * *

Genesis’ fingers halted half-way through unbuttoning his shirt before bed when he saw first saw it. Perhaps he was mistaken, but – no, there was no mistaking it for anything else.

The words poked out from the left side of his ribcage. Just beneath his heart – that thought made him smile to himself. His hand hovered over them in reverent trepidation, stalling for time so he could build the courage to look.

Then he read the words. And then read them again, because that _must_ be wrong. Ice gathered at the base of his spine and spread through the rest of his body. One hand traced his skin without his accord. When he realized it, he brought it away, staring at the fingers, half expecting them to have stained.

They remained pristine. Genesis drew in a shuddering breath. His chest felt tight. He needed – someone, to tell him it was all right, that this wasn’t what it seemed to be. He could not be alone, with those three words and the sense of foreboding numbing his limbs. Nor could he go to his parents. He _would not_ endure the worried twist in his mother’s lips, the hard, searching look in his father’s eyes, the murmurs behind his back.

It was barely a choice to clamber through the window. A route that was familiar to him, but his arms usually didn’t shake so badly when he took it. For a moment, he was sure he would slip and splatter across his mother’s carefully tended flowers.

Except, of course, he wouldn’t die. Not before his soulmate condemned him to it.

* * *

Sephiroth didn’t realize, at first, when his mark appeared. All he knew was he had done _something_ to incur Hojo’s displeasure. He couldn’t recall doing anything differently from normal, but there was no mistaking the sentiment behind the curt glare he received as he was dismissed from the lab, nor the haste with which he was summoned back. Hojo muttered to himself, but though he kept his ears peeled he could not piece together anything coherent from it.

It was Gast who took him aside and explained. Gast who sat him on a couch and looked at him with strangely sorrowful eyes. Who read the words to him, situated as they were behind his neck where he couldn’t see them for himself.

Sephiroth didn’t understand why Gast seemed so sad about them, but more so, he could not see why Hojo would be angry. Was this not what he’d always _wanted_ him to be? A “perfect monster”?

There was some beautiful irony to it, though. How the very _existence_ of the words belied their content. Monsters did not, as far as Sephiroth knew, have soulmates.

He didn’t know how to feel about the fact that _he_ , apparently, did. The very concept struck him as absurd. He tried to picture a face, but any he imagined slowly morphed into someone he knew – a secretary, or lab assistant who’d been kind to him – and the thought of it being them was laughable.

Hojo’s attempts proved that the words could not be carved or burned away.

The first time he tried, Sephiroth screamed. Not from pain, which was negligible through the anaesthetic, but from the jolt of thinking he _could_ be parted from them.

Until that moment, he could not have said with any certainty he _wanted_ them. Their existence was puzzling to him; a curiosity, but little more. As his hand went up to meet charred skin, though, something dizzying opened up inside of him. He stared up at a white ceiling until his vision blurred, his hands bunched in cotton sheets. He could not stop thinking of how _easily_ they’d been removed; perhaps he’d prefer there had been pain, rather than that faint prickle still ghosting against his skin.

_Easier than rinsing out a stain._

He didn’t cry, of course. How absurd of him would that be, when he hadn’t even truly _lost_ anything? But the vastness of the room threatened to swallow him and he lay as still as he could, his own scream echoing in his ears.

They re-emerged, that time and every time after. Sephiroth learned to keep his silence during the procedure. It was easier, knowing it would fail. After, he found himself tiptoeing on bathroom tiles, awkwardly angling two mirrors just to see it there. He read the words as though he hadn’t committed them to memory from the first day.

For better or worse, no one could take this from him.

* * *

The knock barely fazed Angeal. He rolled out of bed with a groan. Genesis often had trouble sleeping, which Angeal might have been a great deal more sympathetic to if it didn’t translate directly into a disturbance of his _own_ sleep schedule.

Annoyance aside, he opened the window and let his friend stumble in. Genesis was dressed in a rather flimsy set of pajamas. The buttons must have been done up in a hurry, because there was one more hole than button at the top. He shivered violently despite the summer breeze that wafted through the window after him.

Angeal waited for the outburst that was all but inevitable, but the minutes ticked by and Genesis remained silent. No rant, no dramatic play-by-play of whatever had upset him. Angeal sat up straighter, alert now - because Genesis didn’t _do_ quiet, not like this. He curled in on himself, one hand hovered over his side.

“What’s wrong? Gen, you aren’t hurt, are you?”

Genesis shook his head, and a bit of tension left Angeal’s shoulders. “Tell me, then.”

Genesis huffed out a quiet breath.

“ _Infinite in mystery is the gift of the Goddess,_ ” he quoted. There was a twist of irony in his voice that implied an in-joke of some sort with himself; all Angeal could glean from it was that he was unlikely to get a straight answer any time soon.

He’d resigned himself to not learning any more when Genesis spoke again. “I have a soulmate.”

Angeal blinked. Of all things he could have predicted, _this_ wasn’t among them. The words did not match their delivery in the slightest. “Isn’t that – a good thing?” he asked.

Genesis laughed, bitter and choked. “ _My friend, the fates are cruel._ ” He slumped against the wall and looked away. “They will _hate_ me.”

“Oh.” Things were beginning to fit together, but – “Are you sure you didn’t just take your words the wrong way?” Genesis had something of a talent for that; achieving it with his own soulmate’s last words to him was certainly taking the skill to an entirely new level, but it was nothing Angeal would put _beyond_ him.

A spark finally flashed behind Genesis’ eyes, “Let’s see how _you_ would take them, then.” With that, he discarded his pajama shirt, clearly exposing his chest.

Angeal sucked in a breath. There was no positive spin he could put on this.

_You will rot._

By the time Angeal’s gaze moved back to Genesis’ face, he’d already pulled his shirt back on and started redoing the buttons, eyes turned decidedly away.

He knew how much words meant to his friend, even if he didn’t quite _understand_ it. To be branded with _those_ – crude, brutal – well, Angeal Hewley had never hated anyone, but he thought he might just hate Genesis’ soulmate.

* * *

Midgar was an assault on the senses, even above plate. Between the neon lights and constant thrum of voices – and the _smell!_ Goddess, had some small animal rotted in a nearby alleyway? - Genesis’ head was pounding. He could only imagine how much worse it would be once he was enhanced. A wave of nostalgia he’d never dreamt he could feel for Banora rolled over him. At least the air was fresh, there, if always tinged with salt and seaweed.

He felt strangely invisible amidst the commotion, despite dressing to stand out. The streets and crowds that had seemed so inviting with Angeal at his side were narrow and threatening, now. Oh, what he would give for clear skies and a cool breeze –

Well. He wouldn’t give his dream. Which happened to be precisely what was on the line, so he wrinkled his nose, shuddered once and pressed forwards.

There was a materia shop, tucked away in the corner of a street he hadn’t been on before. Genesis had no real intention to make a purchase, but it seemed clean, tidy and a good opportunity to get off the street for a little while.

It was worth, at least, a browse. And though he was loathe to admit it, the selection was quite breathtaking. Little balls, each a slightly different shape and size, pulsed with energy. Each individual pulse bled together, until it felt like he’d walked into a still-beating heart. The heart of the planet, perhaps, if the mako energy they contained hadn’t been so processed, collected on wooden, man-made shelves -

He must have been staring, open-mouthed, when a soft cough startled him away from his examination of the shelves.

“Can I help you?”

Genesis had raised his arm in preparation for a dismissal when he realized he _didn’t_ know what he was looking for. Some guidance would, in fact, be rather useful.

“Oh, I was just…,” he trailed off, and received an amused _humph_ in reply. Genesis’ eyes narrowed slightly, the awe quickly wearing off. The man who had spoken – seeming on the elder side of forty, with glasses perched unevenly on his nose - looked him up and down with a sweeping glance.

“Country boy playing dress up, I see. Off to join SOLDIER?”

“Already have,” Genesis bit out. It wasn’t quite _true,_ but only by a technicality. He’d passed every other exam with flying colours, and Hollander assured him his medical evaluation wouldn’t be a problem.

 _That_ thought made something in him curl up tightly with unease. His hand ghosted over his ribs, a motion he had mostly trained himself out of these days. There was no way he would get through a medical evaluation without exposing the mark.

Only Angeal had ever seen it. He’d lied to his parents; easier to claim he had no soulmate. The humiliation of saying so was entirely overshadowed by the prospect of admitting the truth. To have to bare it to clinical, dispassionate _strangers_ …

Rather than be impressed by his earlier declaration, the shopkeeper had the gall to look _pitying_.

“Swallowed down the propaganda, huh? Seems like every boy your age does. So, what is it? Money? Glory?”

Genesis lifted his chin. “I intend to be a hero.”

The shopkeeper shook his head. “Glory it is, then. I’ll tell you what, kid. Shinra’ll chew you up and spit you back out in a few months – if you’re lucky.”

It should have been easier to brush off – this man was hardly the _first_ to give him such a speech, albeit certainly the first with the nerve to do so as an utter _stranger_. But compounded with the bitter path his thoughts had already begun to stray down, the words _rankled_. He breathed in deeply to get a handle on his rising rage.

“ _There is no hate, only joy,_ ” he muttered quietly to himself, “ _for you are beloved of the Goddess. Hero of Dawn, Healer of Worlds…_ ”

“Oi, Dave, lay off. No need to scare the kid.”

A second voice startled Genesis enough for him to swallow a retort that would likely have ended in being kicked out of the shop.

“He’d have to try much harder for _that_ ,” Genesis sniffed, which got a laugh from the second man. The sound was warm rather than mocking, though, which softened him somewhat. The fact that his eyes reminded Genesis strangely of Gillian softened him more – enough, almost, to make up for being called _kid_.

“Oh, I’ve no doubt. We get plenty of SOLDIER hopefuls around here. Dave gives his speech to all of them - I keep telling him, it’s bad for business, but does he listen? _No_.” The last words were spoken with a fond, exasperated tone, while Dave rolled his eyes and shook his head again. “Theater aficionado, too – now that’s _not_ a combination you see every day. Look out for yourself out there, you’ll be just fine.”

“ _Every_ recruit looks out for themselves,” Dave grumbled. “Won’t stop them being canon fodder. If not worse _._ ”

From the friendlier man’s sigh, Genesis gathered he had walked in on a long-running argument. He chose to bite his tongue and keep his dignity; better to _prove_ him wrong than to waste words on it.

“Oh, don’t take him to heart, he’s an incurable pessimist. Now then, what were you looking for? I’ve some starter materia packs if you don’t know what you’ll specialize in. What price range are we looking at?”

“Just show me what you’ve got.”

“Sure, sure. This way.”

Dave leaned an elbow against the counter and watched his partner lead Genesis to a back room with a wider display. If Genesis had been awed before, it was nothing to what he felt _now_ – enough for the flow of conversation to slip from his mind. He took one and rolled it over in his palm, feeling a tug of energy in response.

“Maybe we _should_ scare him a bit. Does them no favours to encourage them. Shinra’s rotten, you know.”

Genesis couldn’t tell if the last line was addressed to Dave’s partner or to him. Either way, he shrugged it off. It had never been about _Shinra_ , not really. It was just a company, likely as corrupt as anything else. What mattered was what it could _make_ him.

“Oh, don’t go filling the kid’s head with conspiracy theories, now.”

“Not _conspiracy theories_ if they’re true. You should see the things –“

“- your nephew sees as a lab assistant, yes,” his partner completed with the fond, long-suffering smile of someone who could repeat a conversation from memory. “’Course Shinra’s corrupt. But someone’s got to keep monsters off the streets, and I’d rather it be someone mako-enhanced than _me_.”

“And who’d you think _puts_ the monsters there, huh? Call it _conspiracy_ if you like, but there weren’t half as many before, is all I’m saying. And if we’re speaking of _monsters_ …” Dave pitched his voice a half-tone lower. “There’s that kid they’ve got, too, the one on all the posters. Must be younger than Trevor, even.”

Genesis was listening intently, now. “Sephiroth?”

“Yeah – that’s him. He’s – well, I dunno _what_ he is, but it sure isn’t _normal_. No-one wants to _say_ it but that’s something else in a child’s body. I know children, y’know, they don’t _act_ like that. Looks straight through you like you’re… you’re _nothing_.”

Genesis’ nails bit into his palms until they drew blood. He didn’t know where the surge of defensiveness came from, but he had had _enough_ of Dave, with his snide remarks and pointed warnings and now _this._ He may not _know_ Sephiroth yet, but it still galled him to hear him spoken of that way.

Genesis thought of the photographs he’d seen of him. Sephiroth looked _ethereal,_ certainly, something otherworldly – but Dave’s crude description did no justice to it.

“How can you say that,” he hissed. Heat rushed through his body, leaving his cheeks flushed.

“Someone’s got a case of hero-worship, hm? I guess I should feel bad for him, really - doubt he had much choice in what they made him. Hard to feel too much for someone so empty, though. He certainly wouldn’t feel much for _me_ if he was told to cut me down tomorrow.”

“Simply because someone is _beyond your understanding_ – !” 

“Hey, hey, hey!” Hands grabbed his shoulders, pulling him back, but Genesis was too shocked by the searing pain in his right hand to fight back. He opened it reflexively and the ball dropped to the floor. A thin line of smoke rose from it, as though a candle had been snuffed out moments before. 

_Well_ , he thought numbly. The anger had died down, but it left something cold inside him. _At least I’ve found my materia specialty._

* * *

Sephiroth spun, and his sword flashed in his hand. Genesis watched in rapture. The behemoth from the simulation charged him, and he drew back, seeming almost to rejoice in the act of taunting it, staying just beyond his reach. There was a lightness to the motions that Genesis would die to learn to imitate. Genesis thought back on his own carefully cultivated fighting style with bitter distaste. Looking at Sephiroth, it became obvious how the motions he considered _graceful_ were only ever a stiff and artificial copy.

In the sudden stillness, it took him a moment to realize that Sephiroth had come to a stop, behemoth cleanly disemboweled at his feet. He did his best to school the awe from his face before dropping from the observation gallery, folding his arms and settling into a comfortable position.

“ _Ripples form on the water’s surface…_ ” Genesis intoned.

Sephiroth’s gaze snapped towards him and for an instant, it pinned him like just another beast to sweep the floor with – but then, his shoulders relaxed a little, his eyes glazed over.

 _Looks straight through you like you’re nothing._ The words flashed only briefly through his mind, but he was acutely ashamed to remember them at all.

The moment dragged on before Genesis offered a clap that was only half sarcastic. “A magnificent performance.”

The words received no acknowledgement; Genesis had to wonder if they were even _heard_.

“How about a challenge, next time?”

“I doubt that you could challenge me.” The delivery was flat, any attention he may have captured immediately lost as Sephiroth returned to the process of disabling the controls.

Genesis bristled. He’d been quick to dismiss claims of Sephiroth’s arrogance as the kind of eager judgement people passed on anyone too different from them – after all, he’d long made peace with such whispers directed at _himself_. His opinion on that was swiftly changing.

It was certainly _well-merited_ arrogance, though, going by the display he’d witnessed. What did it take to earn such effortless perfection? 

“I could always surprise you.” Perhaps he would never quite match the fluidity of Sephiroth’s movements, but he was quite confident he could at least hold his own.

“Possibly. But I simply do not have the time to spar everyone who claims so.” Sephiroth’s tone went beyond dismissive. He sounded… tired.

No, worse. _Bored_. As though Genesis were simply not worth his time. And what, exactly, was so important a demand on his time instead when he was off duty? Did he go back to his apartment and file paperwork until he fell asleep? He could not imagine he had much of a social life. Perhaps he climbed into a glass case and switched off, like one of those frilled dolls they kept in shop windows.

“ _The wandering soul knows no rest_ ,” Genesis declared as he swept out of the hallway, but not before catching the look of bafflement on Sephiroth’s face.

* * *

In the end, it was _Angeal_ who first successfully approached Sephiroth, though not through any intention of his own. Sephiroth had been placed with him on a mission – to stop a terrorist cell from sabotaging a reactor in Sector Four. Officially, they were partners; unofficially, Sephiroth was there to oversee him. It was a simple mission that should have gone smoothly.

Angeal crept through the hallway, on guard for enemies.

He found one. Or, at least, _thought_ he had – until realizing that the man on the other end of his sword was unarmed, gazing at him with palpable fear. Slowly, Angeal lowered his blade and raised his hands.

“Just come peacefully, and I won’t hurt you.”

The man raised his own hands, then, to make – a signal. But not to _Angeal_.

More men emerged from the shadows, and they were decidedly _not_ unarmed. Multiple crosshairs trailed on him. Angeal realized his mistake. _Bait._ He wouldn’t have time to pick his sword back up, much less assume a fighting stance.

He had all but resigned himself that this was how he would go when a flash of silver appeared from the corner of his eye. A quick flurry of sparks, the screech of steel against steel, and the battle was over.

“SOLDIER Second Class Hewley. Why did you drop your sword?”

Sephiroth’s voice was cold. Angeal could hear the reprimand in it. Shame rose in his chest despite himself. “I thought he intended to surrender. Sir.” The _sir_ was tacked on uncertainly; although Sephiroth outranked him, it felt wrong to defer to someone two years his junior.

“Then you should have taken him in by force.”

Angeal narrowed his eyes and grit his teeth. “It would be dishonorable to raise a weapon against a man who has none –”

“There are three Thirds on this mission with us, and five troopers,” Sephiroth interjected in a clipped voice. “You are more than capable of handling yourself, should you choose to do so. During the time I spent rescuing you, I could have had my eyes on them.”

Angeal ducked his head. “Understood, sir.” The shame was far more than an undercurrent now, though a part of him still wanted to protest that he’d done the best he could with what he’d known.

Sephiroth looked at him a moment longer. “You will report to me in the VR3 at 4 o’clock tomorrow.”

Angeal blinked. It was a mistake, certainly, but not one he’d expected to be disciplined for, not that he had any intention or ability to protest.

Wasn’t VR3 a training room? One only Firsts were meant to have access to, at that.

He could have sworn Sephiroth’s lips flickered into a half-smile, but it was gone as soon as it came. “You’re a good fighter, Hewley, but someone has to drum some survival instincts into you.”

* * *

“ _You._ Are getting _personal training._ From _Sephiroth._ ”

“Don’t sound so jealous, Genesis. I screwed up on a mission. It’s hardly a _reward._ ”

“…You’re getting personal training with Sephiroth _,_ ” Genesis emphasized again, his coffee long forgotten on the counter. There was something blazing in his eyes. Angeal sighed. An envious Genesis was never an easy one to deal with.

“If you would like to get knocked on your ass on a bi-weekly basis, I’ll gladly swap places.”

Genesis gave a soft huff of annoyance, then seemed to remember his coffee was going cold. He lifted the cup to his lips, sipped it and made a face. “What’s he like? Besides unbearably arrogant.”

“I wouldn’t say he’s _arrogant,_ ” Angeal countered. “He’s… a bit stand-offish, to be sure, but he’s thawed out a lot since we started.”

“I see. Has he gone from acting like he has an entire cactuar up his ass, to only that ridiculously long sword of his?”

“Genesis,” Angeal scolded, though he couldn’t quite suppress a snort. “Show some respect.”

Genesis hmphed. “My mistake, I forgot cactuars in the behind are catching. Do go on.”

“He’s… young. He tries not to show it – and he doesn’t, mostly, but… you can see it sometimes. He looks too solemn for his age.”

“Some might say the same about you.”

“It’s different.”

“Well, I can see why he likes you, at any rate.” The note of bitterness in Genesis’ voice was scarcely hidden. Angeal was struck by a thought.

“Next time we meet, I could ask him to hang out after, and you can come along. I’ll say we do this every Friday; he won’t think anything of you being there.”

Something mischievous sparkled in Genesis’ eye. “You’d lie for me like that? Not very _honorable_ of you, I’d say.”

Angeal scowled. “Do you want me to, or not?”

Genesis didn’t beam, but Angeal could tell it took all his willpower to refrain from it. “ _Infinite_ _in mystery is the gift of the Goddess._ ”

Angeal didn’t even try to muffle his snort this time. “Just _Angeal_ will do”

* * *

Sephiroth was beginning to regret accepting Angeal’s invitation. The diner was crowded, for one, and the constant chatter grating on his ears. The bright fluorescent light made things no better. Clearly, this place was not designed with enhanced individuals in mind, much less someone like _him_.

Beyond that, there was the fact that he was entirely unsure what was expected of him here. Angeal and his friend had their own, comfortable rhythm, and their attempts to include him had only been painfully awkward.

Angeal’s friend turned out to be a redhead Sephiroth vaguely remembered bumping into in the training rooms once. When he introduced himself as Genesis Rhapsodos, a spark went off in Sephiroth’s head.

“You’re the Second who was disciplined for using a fire materia on your comrades.”

Genesis’ mouth opened, then closed, then turned into a scowl. Sephiroth berated himself for the misstep. Perhaps reminding him of a past mistake hadn’t been the wisest opening. It had merely been the first thing to come to mind.

“They had it coming,” Genesis declared.

“How so?” Another mistake that he realized only as the words left his mouth, but there was no way to recall them now. Sephiroth grimaced. The next time a colleague asked him to a social outing, he was turning them down, no matter how much he otherwise enjoyed their company. _Especially_ if there was promise of a third party’s presence.

For a moment, he wondered if he would get an answer at all, but then Genesis said, “They mocked me. For not wanting to use a shared changing room.” Genesis’ hand went to his side as he spoke, a clearly unconscious gesture that he halted as soon as he caught it and used to smooth his jacket.

Sephiroth was intrigued but thought better, this time, of pursuing the line of conversation. Instead, he simply nodded. Throwing a fireball seemed extreme, but he was not about to argue that it hadn’t been deserved.

He fell silent and allowed Genesis and Angeal to continue their conversation as though he weren’t there. They were still slurping eagerly from their noodles; Sephiroth had emptied his own bowl some time ago. The easy rapport between the two was halted only by the occasional glances Genesis threw in Sephiroth’s direction. It frustrated him to realize he couldn’t read what was behind them, though a moment’s consideration offered up annoyance, wariness and curiosity as primary possibilities.

“And you, Sephiroth? Why did you join SOLDIER?”

It took him an instant to register that the question was addressed to him, and a while longer to settle on an answer. _It was the only thing to do,_ while undoubtably _true,_ did not seem like it would be received well in present company.

“It’s what my skills were best suited for,” he offered instead.

From the frown Angeal gave him, this answer may not have been much better, but Genesis tilted his head and studied him with an expression Sephiroth could, this time, identify as contemplative.

“You do enjoy it, though. Fighting.”

“Yes,” Sephiroth agreed. There was another silence this time, longer, as Sephiroth hunted for the words he needed and wondered whether to elaborate at all. He made his decision just as Angeal seemed about to speak.

“Imagine,” he said slowly, “you’ve been watched and tested all your life. Everything you do is a _variable_ that must be measured, lest it interfere with the results. Then, one day, you are given a sword and allowed to test yourself against a monster. At first, it is confusing, even frightening. But then… _it_ begins to fear _you,_ until you’re no longer at its mercy. It’s at yours. It is… control.”

The words fell in dead silence. Angeal had gone completely still, watching him with a strange expression. Genesis was still, too, his eyes intent, but his expression was something entirely different that eventually settled into a smile. He placed an elbow on the table and leaned in.

“It is freedom,” he said. “ _We seek it thus, and take to the skies._ ”

“I… suppose.” Sephiroth didn’t fully understand what Genesis was trying to say, but he understood enough to surmise that he had, in turn, been understood. A smile came to him, and the tension eased. “You will have to tell me what you are quoting from, someday.”

“Oh,” Angeal said in mock horror, “trust me, you _don’t_ want to ask that,” at the same time at which Genesis spluttered “you don’t know _Loveless_?”

Genesis snapped something in return, and as they began to bicker, Sephiroth reflected that this wasn’t so bad after all.

He might even accept a repeat invitation, if one was offered.

* * *

Sephiroth was not in Midgar again for a very long time. Weeks blurred into months as he cut his way through Wutai; sometimes Angeal was with him, sometimes Genesis, though never both together. Sephiroth found himself eager for their company. The initial awkwardness had abated significantly; he was still largely silent around them, but it was a comfortable silence. With Angeal, at least. With Genesis, there was an edge to all their interactions, something beneath the surface always probing for more. At times, it was exhilarating, but mostly it was exhausting and distracting.

It had been a particularly trying week when he found himself sharing a tent with Angeal. He would rather have had it to himself, truth be told, but if he had to choose someone to share it with, there were far worse options.

“They call you the Demon of Wutai.”

It took Sephiroth a good moment to realize that Angeal was awaiting his response. Had he really never heard the title before? “Yes, they do.”

“Doesn’t it bother you?”

“Why should it?”

Angeal frowned. “It hardly seems… a fair description.”

“Is that so? I’ve killed many of their men.”

“So have I. So have all of us – we’re SOLDIERs, and this is a war. And yet, only you get called a monster.”

Sephiroth smiled bitterly. “Give them time enough to recognize you, then, and perhaps you’ll earn a title of your own.”

Angeal was frowning in earnest now, and Sephiroth couldn’t help feeling he’d disappointed him somehow. He turned away, prepared to settle down for the night, but the thought sat uneasily with him.

“Can you keep a secret, Angeal?” His delivery managed to come out perfectly even, betraying none of the trepidation in his chest.

Angeal raised his eyebrows. “Would you like me to swear on something?”

“That won’t be necessary.” He swept aside his hair, leaving the base of his neck exposed. Angeal hesitated, looking confused, before realizing what Sephiroth wanted him to do. He hovered over his shoulder, and Sephiroth closed his eyes.

It shouldn’t have felt so intimate. Sephiroth hid his mark largely out of convenience, but it wasn’t as if he hadn’t had it examined before. But this wasn’t clinical, and never before had it been someone who actually had a chance of being the one who would speak the words.

Who else, after all, had ever gotten so close to him so quickly?

Angeal sucked in a breath. “…Ah.”

Sephiroth quirked his lips a little. “You see, then, why I’m hardly shocked by the moniker.”

His friend’s gaze was conflicted, verging on pained. Sephiroth sighed. He had a vague sense he’d just ruined something, but how was he to know what to do in such a situation? Opening up a had _seemed_ an opportunity. Expected of him, even.

* * *

He saw little of Angeal for the rest of that mission, but he was far too preoccupied laying out his plans to be especially upset by this.

What followed was an elegant, swiftly executed victory. The mistake of the commander there before him was trying to lay siege; the city didn’t _need_ to be cracked. All that was needed was a focused attack on their outpost, and an open avenue for retreat. A cornered enemy would fight back to their last breath, but one with civilians to protect would hesitate to throw away that chance.

Then the air force moved in. The air force, which had been notified of Sephiroth’s intentions, but not under his command.

For hours, the city Sephiroth had taken all but bloodlessly burned. He watched a temple catch flame, sparkling and crackling as the wood splintered. The smoke clung to his exposed skin and stung his eyes, but he was helpless to do anything; his authority had been exhausted, and now the rest of the army had free rein. There was nothing to do but walk away and wash the ash from his hair.

Angeal was there, when Sephiroth got back. There was too much mako in his veins for him to develop bags under his eyes, but his movements – slower and clumsier than they should have been – betrayed his exhaustion. Sephiroth _should_ care, but he by the time he escaped the higher-ups who had come to congratulate him, he could think of nothing but making it back to his bed.

“You acted honorably,” Angeal told Sephiroth, as if it was a reassurance. As if it made any difference – and suddenly Sephiroth had had it with his naivety. He shouldered past him without another word.

* * *

Shinra had plastered Sephiroth’s face in every place where it would fit, and then in a few places it didn’t for completeness.

Being stuck at home base with no way to work off boredom or to prove himself would, alone, have been more than enough to sour Genesis’ mood, but being unable to walk ten steps without seeing a poster of Sephiroth veritably _towering_ over him, under the most dramatic lighting possible to make him look a full half-decade older than Genesis knew he really was, did little to help matters. Clearly SOLDIER’s PR team had resigned themselves to their inability to make him smile for a photoshoot and decided to lean fully into the intimidation angle.

It was this set of circumstances that had brought Genesis to the roof, book in hand but rather failing to capture his attention. It was a near-full moon, and said moon hung heavy, illuminating the shell of Midgar’s upper plate.

Goddess, Genesis was so desperately glad to live above plate. He didn’t think he _could_ live without the sky.

A soft cough alerted him to the presence of someone behind him, and it was a testament to his restraint that he didn’t jump, instead managing to turn his head calmly.

It was Sephiroth. Of _course_ it was. Even distracted, no one else could sneak up on him like that. Even here, it seemed, he could not escape that face.

A face which, in fact, he hadn’t seen in _person_ for something in the order of months.

“May I join you?” its owner asked. The simplicity of the question startled Genesis. Somehow, in those months of seeing Sephiroth nowhere and overblown praise for him _everywhere,_ he’d forgotten that the man himself could be understated, verging on laconic. On another day it might have bothered him, but today he was happy to hear as little of Sephiroth as possible.

“Go ahead,” he bit out, unable to restrain a little frustration from leaking into his voice. If Sephiroth noticed, he didn’t let on, settling silently to Genesis’ left and leaning his head back against the wall.

Genesis flipped a page, as loudly and pointedly as he could. Truth be told he wasn’t quite sure where he’d been on the previous one, but it hardly mattered. He picked a paragraph at random and let his eyes scan across it, more to avoid the awkward silence than from any true interest. The wall he leaned against dug into his back and he was acutely aware of the space between himself and Sephiroth. Too wide for easy familiarity; too close to be ignored.

“I didn’t expect anyone to be here,” Sephiroth announced out of the blue, and Genesis snapped his book shut.

So he _hadn’t_ sought out his company on purpose. That was hardly a surprise, but Genesis’ nails dug into his palms regardless. “I’m happy to leave,” he said, “if you’d rather be alone.”

“No. I wouldn’t.”

It was hardly the most inviting request for his presence he’d ever received, but coming from Sephiroth, he’d take it.

He settled back again, just a touch more relaxed than before, and almost missed Sephiroth’s voice when it came again, softer this time. “Do you ever feel… completely disgusted with the world?”

Genesis blinked. Whatever words he’d expected, it wasn’t those. “Frequently,” he confessed.

Sephiroth gave a low hum, and said nothing else.

“ _When the war of beasts brings about the world’s end…_ ” Genesis began, more to alleviate the tension than anything else.

“I hardly think the world is ending, Genesis.”

“No, that was a… oh, why do I even bother with you?” Turning slightly to look at him, Genesis caught sight of a half-smile on Sephiroth’s face that vanished as soon as it was spotted.

“Do you think I’m a monster?”

The last dredges of hot, bitter jealousy turned to dust on his tongue. What was there to say to _that_?

“No,” he started, but the word could not have sounded less convincing if he’d tried. He took a deep breath and tried again. “No. You aren’t. You _feel_ inhuman because you feel alone, but loneliness might be the most universally human feeling out there.”

“Hm.”

“The human condition,” Genesis offered only half sardonically, “ _Do_ try opening a literary book at least once in your life.”

“And why should I do that, when I have you to ambush me with them at every corner?”

Sephiroth was _teasing_ him, Genesis realized with a jolt of shock. A surprised chuckle escaped him, and when the silence settled again, it felt lighter. Genesis realized that he no longer felt any irritation with the man next to him at all. In fact, he might be rather glad to have him there.

Sephiroth had shifted closer. Or perhaps Genesis himself had; either way, where before there had been a good half-meter of wall between them, now their shoulders almost brushed. Genesis’ breath stuttered. He’d never been this close to Sephiroth before, and doubted many had. From here, he could observe the set of his eyebrows, the way his hair framed his face, the sharp glint of light reflecting in his eyes. His features were almost delicate – _deadly,_ undoubtedly, but delicate.

The moment felt delicate, too, like it might shatter with one wrong word, so Genesis resorted to the words that were safest for him.

“ _The Goddess descents from the sky_ ,” he began, relieved at how the words flowed, only barely faltering. “ _She guides us to bliss, her gift everlasting –_ ”

“Genesis?”

The words slammed to a halt. Sephiroth was watching him intently, and Genesis waited with bated breath.

“Thank you.”

It sounded more like mere acknowledgement than true gratitude, especially with how immediately Sephiroth released him from his attention once the words were said. Genesis should have made some easy quip to brush it off and return to normalcy. But it refused to come, and he resumed his reading in silence.


End file.
